An aching tug that hurts worse every time.
I spend every free second of my days away from Olarte thinking about them.
Missing them.
Longing for them.
Definitely not a set of emotions I’d feel for someone who’s “just” a friend.
And the rush I feel to return to Pfahrn and see Olarte again is something else I’ve never experienced before. The closest thing I have to it was completing my ether-jump nav certification training and nailing my targets perfectly every single time.
Knowing that my final certification scores werethehighest to date, and still stand as the record to this day.
I know, because I keep checking.
I’m not petty—I’mcompetitive. And you can’t say “competitive” without saying “petty.”
Depending on your accent, that is.
Hey, it keeps me sharp. There’s no room for error when you’re running ether-jump ships. If someone better than me shows up, I want to meet them and talk to them and pick their brain to find outhowthey got that good.
I’d want tolearnfrom them. Because I’m not so damned petty that I don’t have an open mind. Improving and staying at the top of my game is a priority, for me. Because the older I get, the more likely I will be to slip, until that point in time when I won’t be able to work any longer. Not doingthis, anyway. Maybe as a portal-jump nav, traditional nav, sub-jump or tachyon drive nav, or an ether-jump nav trainer, sure.
I’m nowherenearthat point yet, thankfully.
Doesn’t hurt that I have a considerable financial cushion in reserve.
I set the ship’s nav course so that our jump-in point is three days from Pfahrn. I use a not-quite bullshit excuse that it’s due to the planet’s orbit, and other current jumps registered in the system, shipping lanes, all that.
The truth is, I need a little time to figure out what the hell I’m going to do once we arrive. Two years is like forever in my life. I can’t keep living my personal life like this.
Unresolved.
At this rate, it’ll start negatively impacting my work. But I’m not sure if I’d be willing to reduce my confused emotions over Olarte to a complex and dryly worded contract, either.
Because what if I’m not good enough for them?
What if they’re not happy with me?
What if, at the end of the day, they do sleep with me, the novelty of having a tiny human sex pet wears off, and they realize they weren’t in love with me after all?
Could I handle that?
Having to break a contract would break my heart.
In some ways, this limbo is almost preferable because I don’t have to face that reality.
I get the irony, trust me.
Our jump proceeds without a hitch—naturally—and after we jump in, we make our way to Pfahrn under tachyon drive. Olarte and I frequently exchange messages while I’m away, but this time I haven’t given them a firm timeframe about my return.
Mostly because I’m still trying to sort things out in my head.
As the tractor is once again pulling us toward the space station, where we’ll be berthed in Olarte’s sector, it’s late at night ship’s time and I’m once again alone on the bridge. I sit in the captain’s chair and nervously drum the fingers of my left hand on the edge of the console, while my lucky stylus walks back and forth through the fingers of my right hand.
We’re close enough I could call Olarte and have a real-time conversation with them.
If I can sac up and do it, that is.
